


Not Your Mother's Happy Ending

by godisthedice



Series: GW2017A [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gallavich Week 2017A, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 15:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godisthedice/pseuds/godisthedice
Summary: Gallavich Week 2017A Day 4: Together/Married/Happy Ending/DomesticMickey could hold a fucking grudge about it. He could make Ian fucking grovel if he wanted his ass back. He thought he fucking deserved that.Or he could have what he'd dreamed about when he was in prison. The only thing that'd got him through."You wanna get outta here?" Maybe they could do things the easy way sometimes, too.





	Not Your Mother's Happy Ending

Mickey had been in the crappy little tourist town on the west coast of Mexico for less than a week when he stepped into the even crappier dive he'd picked out at his drinking spot and saw a headful of bright orange hair at the bar.

"The fuck are you doin' here?" The stool next to Ian was open. Mickey dropped down onto it like someone had cut his strings. Kinda fucking felt like it. 

Ian hadn't even fucking come to say goodbye. He'd fucking... he'd come every other time. He'd come when Mickey had sent his first message. He'd come to the docks. He'd come _at_ the docks and it had been just as fucking good as it had ever been between the two of them. Better; it had been so fucking long since anyone had touched Mickey like Ian had that he'd thought he was gonna bust out of his skin when Ian had kissed him. He'd definitely finished so fast it was almost embarrassing once Ian got that big perfect dick in him.

Done better on round two though. By round three he'd almost got the hang of it again.

Then Ian hadn't answered his fucking phone. He hadn't answered the burner that Mickey had given him. He hadn't answered when Mickey had gotten desperate and called his real phone, the number he'd memorized while he was staring at it and pressing dial over and fucking over after Ian had run the fuck off with his kid. Mickey'd gotten enough of Ian fucking Gallagher not answering his fucking calls for a lifetime that day. He hadn't fucking needed to do it over again.

It wasn't like Mickey coulda fucking stuck around for him. Not when the fucking cops were turning the neighborhood over looking for him. He couldn't fucking wait for Ian to decide to answer his fucking phone. Even if he'd wanted to.

Besides. Him and Damon had made plans. He'd barely gotten that spic asshole to wait long enough for Mickey to even get hold of Ian in the first place. They hadn't needed to get some other shit together and he probably wouldn't have. Wasn't like he was fucking smart about anything else.

Fuck. Mickey was glad he'd dumped his ass on the road before he'd gotten both of them killed.

"Hey, Mick." That fucking smile still made Mickey's insides warm and Ian fucking knew it. Otherwise he wouldn't have just fucking sat there with it on his face like two fucking words were enough to explain why Ian had showed up after cutting him off completely.

_Fuck_. No. Mickey couldn't fucking let him get away with it that fucking easy. "Forgot how to use a fuckin' phone, bitch?"

Ian laughed, all quiet, like that shit was fucking funny. "You did kind of spring the whole 'run away to Mexico with me' thing on me. I needed some time to think. Figure out what I wanted."

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Grabbed some tourism brochures when I got past the border." Ian shrugged. "Looked for towns on the beach and picked the one that looked most like somewhere you'd go."

Yeah. Mickey guessed that was fucking fair. That was how he'd picked the place too.

Ian waited for a minute and then grinned even wider like Mickey'd fucking told him that was exactly what he did. "Then I found the shittiest bars in town and started showin' them your picture. Bartender here recognized you so..." So that was fucking that.

More important, "You still got pictures of me?"

"Course I do."

Like Mickey was supposed to fucking know that? He'd figured that Ian had deleted all that shit off his phone after he'd broken up with him. Maybe even before Mickey was officially locked up.

Fuck him.

Mickey ordered a drink ("Beer. Gimme a _beer_. Fuckin' cerveza, asshole.") and nursed it slowly. Ian didn't say anything. Didn't leave either.

"Your boyfriend fuckin' dump you or something?"

"My mom died."

Well fuck. Mickey didn't fucking like Ian's mom. That bitch had been nothing but fucking trouble when the rest of them were trying to get Ian to take his fucking pills and get better. She'd done nothing but fucking upset Ian for most of the time that Mickey had been hooking up with him. It was still his mom. "Shit."

There was a joke that Mickey wasn't getting in the way that Ian snorted. "Yeah."

The two of them sat silent again. Ian ordered a beer. Mickey didn't remind him that he wasn't supposed to fucking drink on his meds.

Then, because that wasn't the whole fucking story, Mickey asked again, "And your boyfriend dumped you?"

"Yeah. My boyfriend dumped me."

Fucking figured. That was Ian. Always about a fucking guy. Mickey'd been that guy for so fucking long that it still felt like a stab in the chest that Ian had moved on. That Ian probably wouldn't have come if this guy hadn't broken up with him.

Mickey could hold a fucking grudge about it. He could make Ian fucking grovel if he wanted his ass back. He thought he fucking deserved that.

Or he could have what he'd dreamed about when he was in prison. The only thing that'd got him through.

"You wanna get outta here?" Maybe they could do things the easy way sometimes, too.

* * *

Ian's hands fit just as perfectly on Mickey's hips as he remembered them.

Everything about Ian fit just as perfectly as Mickey remembered it. It hadn't been a fucking fluke back on the docks that their bodies curved together just as easily as they ever had. They fit just as well in the crappy room that Mickey was renting with the cash he'd stolen from a gas station. On the cheap, thin mattress that was even worse than the one they'd fucked on that first time back in Mickey's bedroom.

Those long, perfect fingers had opened him up. Ian had taken his time even though Mickey had cussed him the fuck out and told him that he didn't _need_ that shit.

"Shut up, Mick. Just let me..." Ian slid another finger in alongside the first, crooked them just right to make Mickey tingle from head to fucking toe.

He gasped. His back fucking curved so he could push himself further back on Ian's fingers and just... fucking...

Ian grinned against his shoulder. "There you go."

Yeah. Fucking laugh it up, chuckles.

Mickey gritted his teeth when he heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper. They hadn't always fucking bothered with those before. Fucking dumb of them but Mickey hadn't cared. He'd just needed Ian. He'd always fucking needed Ian more than he'd needed to be smart. Fuck. Everybody had to die of something anyway.

It was better without the condom, but it was still fucking good with it. The blunt head of Ian's cock pushed against his hole and for a second the fingers hadn't been enough. Even after the rough sex on the docks and the slower fucking in the van Mickey felt the burn of the stretch.

Then he was pressing deeper and Mickey fucking _keened_. 

Their bodies slid together, sweat-slick and desperate. Ian's hands covered his on the bed, gripped him tight enough that his knuckles turned pale.

Mickey came first, shuddering and clenching around Ian's cock while he shot onto the bed with a hoarse cry. Ian drove into him hard and fast and it felt fucking good. Even when the lazy exhaustion of coming his brains out started creeping in it felt fucking awesome to have Ian pounding into him, every breath harsh against Mickey's ear.

If Mickey's eyes were wet by the time Ian thrust into him once more and came with a shout, neither of them mentioned it.

Later, Ian pressed kisses against the letters of his misspelled name over Mickey's heart while Mickey's fingers rested in his hair with a gentle grip.

"You know..." Ian looked up from where he'd been tracing a second 'L' into Gallagher with the tip of his tongue. "I bottom now. If you wanna..."

"Shut the fuck up bitch. Got enough of that shit in prison." Mickey couldn't help thinking though... maybe.

Maybe they had the time to try out everything.

* * *

Turned out Ian's EMT thing wasn't so hard to transfer over to being legal in Mexico too. Mickey guessed wherever the fuck you went, you needed people who could ride in a fucking ambulance and keep people from dying. Since he was in the country legally it wasn't even a big fucking problem. Just a few phone calls and some paperwork.

He fucked Mickey in their kitchen with his uniform on before his first day of work.

There was still a sheen of sweat on Ian's forehead when he finished buckling up his pants. Mickey was still leaned forward against the counter with his pants around his ankles and a grin on his face. He'd fucking known that Ian would crack, no matter how much he'd told Mickey that he didn't want to to go to his first day of work smelling like sex. What the fuck ever. He'd already met all his coworkers. It wasn't like that was the first fucking impression they'd be getting of Ian. Probably just think he was a fucking stud for having a boyfriend who was so hungry for his dick that he was willing to have a quickie before Ian was out the door.

"Your boyfriend do shit like that for you?"

Mickey hadn't meant to ask the fucking question. He didn't know why he had. They'd been fucking happy; maybe that was it. Maybe Mickey couldn't leave well enough fucking alone.

Ian looked at him, slow and quiet. Ian had always been quiet. Middle fucking child syndrome or some shit. There was something different about the way he was quiet now. Less like he didn't think anybody was gonna listen and more like he was actually thinking it through before he said something he might regret. "You really wanna know?"

No. Fuck no. Mickey didn't wanna know about the perfect guys that Ian had probably dated. Would probably still be dating if that fucker hadn't dumped him. "Why the fuck not?"

Mickey was maybe kinda a fucking sucker for pain.

"Caleb is poz. Couldn't exactly be spontaneous most of the time. Trev is trans so... couldn't fuck if he didn't have the right dick on. Didn't fuck without it either. Made him feel weird about his junk I guess." Ian stepped in closer. Close enough that Mickey couldn't move even to pull his fucking pants up while they were having this fucking conversation. 

So... Ian had dated a literal fucking AIDS monkey and some kinda shemale after Mickey? Fuck. If that was fucking upgrading then it was good to know where Mickey fucking stood.

Ian leaned in so he was taking right into Mickey's ear; if he hadn't already pulled his pants up he'd have been close enough to fuck Mickey again right the fuck then. "But yeah. My boyfriend does shit like this for me, because _you're_ my boyfriend now."

Yeah. For then. Fucking forgive Mickey if he was waiting for the other fucking shoe to drop. It wasn't like they could ever just fucking... be. Mickey was fucked. He wasn't gonna get to be happy for long.

"Yeah? You think you get to just be my boyfriend again just like that, Romeo?" Mickey fucking liked it. He wanted Ian to call him his fucking boyfriend.

Ian's breath against his ear made him shiver. "Yeah. I think I do." He pulled back. Slapped Mickey's ass. "Specially since you're my house husband now. Gonna have dinner ready for me when I get in?"

Well fuck. They didn't have time for another round but Mickey's dick really fucking liked that. "Fuck you. Make your own fuckin' dinner."

Ian laughed all the way out the door.

Mickey had frozen burritos and beer waiting for him by the time he walked back in it.

* * *

Fucking hilarious that Mickey's first job in a country where he was living illegaly was completely fucking legal. Well. Kinda. Except for the part where they were willing to hire him without any papers. That shit was shady as fuck. Mickey wasn't complaining though. Except about the fact that Ian had fucking badgered him until he'd settled on a real job instead of running drugs or stealing shit.

Apparently Ian going fucking respectable meant that it was probably a bad idea for him to be dating someone who was risking getting thrown in jail every day. Something about losing his license if he was involved in criminal activity. Some shit like that.

Still a decent fucking job. Mickey wasn't sure why he'd never gone for the fucking bouncer gig before. He got to punch people and get paid for it. Best job in the fucking world.

Ian came into the bar where he was working his first night in shift. Said he was there for moral fucking support. Some shit like that.

Yeah. That shit mighta been more believable if Ian hadn't been staring at Mickey like he wanted to fuck him right where he was fucking standing the whole night.

Ian bought him a drink on his first break. Soda. Couldn't fucking drink while he was on the job apparently, one more thing that sucked about working for a place that was kinda respectable.

He got a couple of beers after his shift though. Ian kept drinking the one that he'd been working on all night even though it had to be warm and fucking disgusting by then.

They walked home with their arms around each other's shoulders. They weren't drunk enough to stumble but they were still grinning like they had that one night. The night before everything went to shit. When they were supposed to go on a fucking date and do all that shit that Ian wanted.

That Ian had probably done with those other guys. Caleb and Trev.

"Let's go on a fuckin' date." Mickey was gonna fucking show Ian. He was gonna show him that he could give him whatever those guys could. Even if it was a date.

Ian grinned over at him, bright and happy. "Right now?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Of course not right fuckin' now. Next time we both have a day off. We'll go get some fuckin' steak. With real fuckin' silverware." Just like they'd planned on it. Fuck. Mickey thought that shit had been taken away from him for good but there Ian was and he was gonna fucking do it right. He was gonna do it before something else could happen to fuck them over again.

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do it." Ian leaned in and kissed him right there in the middle of the street.

Mickey didn't even look around to see if anybody was looking.

* * *

Ian's ankles were still resting on his shoulders. Mickey wasn't fucking sure how he'd managed to bend those long legs like that, to fit himself to Mickey's body in a new way.

They stayed joined together in the silence for a few more moments.

They stayed quiet until Mickey's heart was finally back to a normal pace.

Ian rested his head back against the pillow with a sigh. "Yeah?"

"...okay. Yeah." 

Mickey guessed they could do it this way sometimes too. He kinda fucking loved the noises that Ian made when Mickey slid into him.

* * *

The service at the only halfway decent restaurant they could afford was fucking awful.

It took them fifteen minutes before someone even came to take their drink order and of fucking course the fucking waiter didn't speak English worth a shit. Mickey was ready to fucking blow his brains out by the time that they finally managed to get across to the guy what it was that they wanted to order. Jesus fucking Christ. It wasn't that fucking hard. Beer and steak. That was literally all he was fucking asking for.

They managed to get the fucking order wrong in the kitchen too.

Mickey glared at the fucking _cow tongue_ on his plate. All he'd fucking wanted to do was take Ian on a real date so he could see that Mickey could do this shit. So he could see that he hadn't made a fucking mistake and that shit could be just as good with Mickey as it had been with Caleb and Trev.

Mickey had never even met the fuckers but he hated them more than he'd ever hated anyone else in his fucking life. Maybe even more than he'd hated his dad. Or Kash. Or that fucking geriatric that Ian had been fucking.

"At least they got the beer right." Ian was cutting into the tongue on his plate. Fuck. It wasn't like both of them probably hadn't had to eat worse at some point. They didn't exactly come from somewhere with gourmet cuisine. He popped the bite into his mouth and chewed it, slow and thoughtful. "It's not bad, actually."

Fuck. They were already paying for it. Mickey figured he might as well eat his too. Even if it wasn't what he'd fucking asked for.

It was fucking cold. Of course. Because one fucking thing couldn't go right.

"Fuck." Mickey dropped his fork on the plate and pressed his hands against his face. "Yeah. This is a great fuckin' date. I really got this one right, huh?"

Ian's hand covered one of his, tugged it away from his face.

"Mick. It's great. I love it." Ian didn't look like he was bullshitting him.

Of course, Ian was a great fucking liar too. When he wanted to be.

"They brought us fucking cow tongues, Gallagher. Tongues. That were in a cow's fucking mouth." Mickey didn't know how he coulda missed that fucking fact. It _looked_ like they'd just sliced that shit right outta the cow's mouth and slapped it on a frying pan or something. "Do you know how fucking disgusting that shit is?"

Not that MIckey did. It wasn't like he'd ever seen a fucking cow. He was from _Chicago_.

Ian snorted. "It's not like they just cut it out of the cow's mouth and put it on the plate. They cooked it. That kills all the fuckin' gross stuff."

"Yeah?" Mickey dropped the other hand from his face too. "Your fancy EMT classes tell you that? Or is fucking cow tongue something that fancy fucking assholes eat? Fuckin' _Trev_ feed you a fuckin' cow's tongue?"

"Mostly we picked up burgers." Ian considered for a second. "Caleb probably would have though."

Mickey tried to pull away from him and stand up.

Ian didn't let go.

"Mick. I mean it. I love it." Ian looked into his eyes, stare intense enough that Mickey felt like he was looking right through him and seeing how fucking bad Mickey actually was at all this shit. Seeing that he was better off going back to fucking Chicago and trying to get whichever guy it was he'd been dating last to take his ass back. They probably would. Everybody fucking loved Ian.

Mickey couldn't even imagine someone that wouldn't want to be with Ian. If they had the choice. It was fucking bullshit that Mickey fucking Milkovich, of all fucking people, was sitting in a restaurant in Mexico with him eating a fucking cow's tongue.

"I love it," Ian told him for a third fucking time. "Because this is us. This is our date. We could be getting fuckin' Taco Bell and sitting in the parking lot and I'd still love it because I'm with _you_. Because you wanna be here with me."

"Bullshit," Mickey told him. "That's not--you really fuckin' expect me to believe you'd be fine with fuckin' Taco Bell? That's not what you fuckin' said when--"

Ian pressed a finger against his lips. "I love it because I love you, Mick."

Oh. Oh... fucking... Mickey stared at him, shocked into silence.

"Sorry it took me so long to say it." Ian traced the slack lines of Mickey's lips with his finger before he slid it back to his side of the table. "Now eat your cow tongue."

Mickey ate the cow tongue.

He woke Ian up later that night after they'd curled up in their tiny bed together so that he could whisper to him, "I love you too."

* * *

"Carl did what?"

Mickey sprawled out on the couch in his boxers and watched Ian pacing their living room. Not that there was much room for him to pace with his giant fucking legs. It wasn't the first time that one of Ian's siblings had called him that week. Apparently they had some new big family drama going on. Ian told him every fucking day that he was so glad he wasn't there for it.

After a while Mickey was almost convinced that he actually meant it and he wasn't just saying it to convince Mickey he wasn't going back to Chicago.

"Fi--Fi, slow down, I can't..." 

Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey. He could almost make out what Fiona was saying from where he was laying.

"No, Fi. I can't just come back. I have a job. I have a boyfriend--yes, Mickey. Yeah I... Fi... Fi, _stop_." Ian was jutting his chin out. Fiona must have been back on her whole Mickey ruining Ian's life horse.

Not that Mickey thought that she was wrong. He was just fucking selfish enough that he was gonna take whatever Ian was willing to give.

"He's my boyfriend. I love him. I'm _happy_. I'm stable. I--look, I'm getting a call from Carl, can I... yeah. Later. Love you.

"Hey, Carl."

Mickey lifted his head up. "Tell the psychopath I said hey."

"Mickey says hi."

Ian listened for a second, then took the few steps over to the couch and dropped the phone on Mickey's stomach. "He wants to talk to you."

Hey. Mickey was a fucking awesome multitasker. He flipped Ian off with one hand and picked the phone up with the other. "Ay, man. The fuck you do this time?"

Fucking Gallaghers. Every last fucking one of them was crazy. Mickey was just glad he'd got the one with the best kind of crazy in the bunch.

* * *

Didn't feel like it had been a year since Mickey had walked into a bar and seen a headful of bright orange hair waiting for him but there they were again. Ian had fucking insisted on it. Something about it being their spot.

Everyone knew them there by then. They were fucking regulars. They'd _been_ there long enough to be regulars. For everyone to fucking ask Mickey, if he came in alone, where his man was. Half the time he even understood what the fuck they were asking now. Not that he was great at fucking Spanish but... he could fucking get by.

Ian was better. Of course Ian was better. Ian stopped and chatted with everyone they fucking met. They fucking loved teaching Ian new words while he sat there with that fucking grin and tried them out until he got them right. Not like Mickey minded. He liked watching him just as much as they loved teaching him.

"Dos cervezas," he told Miguel the bartender. "Y agua."

Trial and fucking error, but they'd figured out that as long as Ian flushed the beer down with plenty of water he could handle more than one without getting totally wasted. Kept him from having to drink gross warm beer at least.

It was a good fucking night. Mickey turned and looked over his shoulder when he heard the door open, waved Ian over when he walked through still in his EMT uniform. Not like Ian wouldn't know where to find him anyway. They had their own fucking seats too. That was how much they were in this fucking bar.

It was no Alibi Room. Miguel wasn't Kev. But it wasn't a bad bar to be in. They'd brought Carl to it when he'd visted them on one of his breaks from fucking military school.

Ian kissed the side of his head before he sat down and leaned against the bar, all lanky loose limbs and red hair that was getting long enough to be floppy again. Mickey liked it like that. Liked to hold on to it while they were kissing. Really liked to hold onto it while Ian was sucking his cock.

"How was work?" Yeah. Mickey fucking asked his boyfriend how his day at work had been. It was fucking domestic as shit and he would beat the shit out of anybody who made fun of him for it. Good thing most of the assholes in this bar knew better by now.

They were still all watching them though. Mickey didn't fucking know why. It wasn't like they'd done anything they hadn't done a billion fucking times in front of these fuckers.

"Good. Work was good." Ian was kinda weird. Jumpy. Kept looking at Miguel. Mickey wondered for a second if his meds were fucked up. If they needed to get him in to the doctor again so that he could get them adjusted.

Nah. He'd just keep an eye on him. One weird night didn't mean that he was manic. Mickey was learning a little more how to back off and trust that Ian could handle his shit for himself.

Miguel sat a bottle down in front of him. Mickey reached for it without looking, eyes still on Ian. "Yeah? What the fuck was so good about it?"

He tilted the bottle up to his mouth while he was waiting for Ian's answer. Took a long drink.

Heard a clink like something hard was hitting the glass. _The fuck..._

There was a fucking ring in the bottle. Like... a _ring_. The kind of ring you put on your finger, not the kind of ring you put on your cock. Mickey looked at it for a second, settling back to the bottom of the amber liquid while he held it upright. Then he looked at Ian. Then Miguel and the rest of these assholes in the bar.

Why the _fuck_ had Miguel given him a bottle with a fucking ring in it?

"Mickey..." Ian looked fucking nervous. Mickey had no fucking idea why. Did he think Mickey was gonna start a fucking fight over a ring in a bottle?

"¿Asi que?" Miguel leaned in closer like he was fucking waiting for something. They were _all_ acting like they were fucking waiting for something.

Mickey snorted. "The fuck is wrong with you assholes?"

"Seriously?" Ian snorted. "Mickey. I had Miguel put a ring in your bottle."

"The fuck you do that for?"

Ian stared at him for another second, then looked around the bar like he was expecting everyone else to back him the fuck up on this not being a little fucking weird.

Then he grabbed the beer from Mickey's hand, slid off his stool, and went down to one knee on the floor. "Mickey Milkovich. I want you to fuckin' marry me."

"...fuck." Mickey was fucking _dumb_. "You fucking serious? You..." He grabbed the beer back from Ian. "Too fuckin' late. You fuckin' asked already. Yes, asshole, I'll fuckin' marry you. Now I'm gonna drink this fuckin' beer so I can get the ring some idiot dropped in it." And he was never gonna take that fucker off.

What do you fucking know? Looked like they might have finally figured out how to do this shit the easy way, after all.


End file.
